


Hiding in Plain Sight

by iWantMyDrumfredBack (BornBlue)



Series: Drummond Is Not Dead [5]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Drumfred now and always, Edward Drummond Lives, Light Angst, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, So complicated now isn't it?, the course of true love never did run smooth, which is pretty much the point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 02:07:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14226789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BornBlue/pseuds/iWantMyDrumfredBack
Summary: Drummond's parents want answers. What in the world can he tell them that will make them understand?





	Hiding in Plain Sight

Drummond was watching the clock, trying to be certain he would arrive at Mivart’s as late as was reasonable. He knew he could not ignore his parents, but wished to make the conversation as brief as possible.

 

Several days after he had spoken to Florence, Drummond had sent a quick note to his parents informing them of the broken engagement. He had waited until he could be fairly certain the news would reach them only just before the announcement appeared in the paper. Recently, he seemed to be in the practice of putting them off until the last possible moment. As much as he loved his parents, he was certain they would have made every effort to change the situation if it had not yet been made public. This marriage had very much been their project. They had set their sights on the pairing years before, in light of both their long friendship with Florence’s parents and the envy they had often expressed for her family’s royal connections. Wealth without title, which the Drummonds possessed, was considered a bit tainted, but Florence and her lineage would fold Edward into a level of society they could never quite attain. They deeply longed for him to have the brightest future possible. He may not have been their eldest son, but he was their brightest and, while they might not have admitted it, he was the favorite child for both of them. He felt the responsibility of all their hopes quite keenly, and suspected that no explanation he could give them would allay their disappointment. But disappointment after the fact would be more manageable for him than resistance when they might still put a wrench in the works.

 

Then again, he had not expected them to drop everything and travel to London with such haste, and he was dreading the face-to-face encounter.

 

When he arrived at Mivart’s, the dinner hour had safely passed, so at least he would not be forced to endure a torturous meal under their scrutiny. He found that he was indeed expected, whereupon he was ushered promptly to their suite.

 

Immediately upon entering, Edward was greeted by his father in an unusually somber manner. It was as if someone had died. “Son. I’d say it's good to see you, but hardly under the circumstances. Let me inform your mother you’re here; she went to rest after dinner.”

 

“Of course,” the younger Drummond replied, finding that his voice had become quite hoarse all of a sudden. And his head was once again throbbing with pain.

 

He was alone for a few minutes, and wondered whether he should sit down. This would normally not have been a question; his parents observed protocols, but not to a noxious degree. However, at this particular moment, he was not certain whether he was a son or a suspect about to be interrogated. He guessed the latter, and felt he should await his parents’ invitation to take a seat. So he stood awkwardly near the door, wishing his head would stop aching and his heart stop racing.

 

“Edward, dear.” He heard his mother’s voice before he saw her; it had always been her most notable trait, and he loved the sound of it. It was deep for a woman’s, and smooth as velvet, and when she had sung him lullabies as a child, he was always enchanted by her sonorous tones. Now, as his ears caught the sad notes beneath her familiar lilt, he felt a sharp pang of regret. Disappointing her—the woman who had always comforted him in his moments of fear and self-doubt—was perhaps more painful than disappointing Florence. And there would be no cutting future ties afterward; she was his mother and she always would be.

 

As she approached him, she held out her hands. He took them and followed as she led him to sit with her on the divan. He couldn't bear to look at her and see the disappointment in her eyes.

 

“Tell me, son, what in the world has happened?” He could feel her eyes on him as she searched for some clue in his countenance.

 

His father stood nearby, silent for the moment. He, too, was watching Edward, trying to work out what could possibly have put a stop to his engagement.

 

“Well, Mama, there’s not much to tell,” he managed to squeak out. His voice sounded a bit stronger than before, but his head still ached terribly. “Florence and I simply discovered that we are ill-suited to one another and should not enter into a marriage together.”

 

As he had predicted, that was not a sufficient explanation.

 

“Poppycock!” His father interjected, probably a bit more loudly than he had intended. He was generally quite even-tempered and kindly, but was now clearly perturbed. There weren’t many times that Edward had seen him this way, and it was frankly distressing. “In what ways are you ill-suited? You’ve known each other for years, you’re fond of each other—which is more than many married couples might say. Not your mother and I, of course,” he offered a sweet, conciliatory nod to his wife before continuing. “Florence is personable, quite pretty, and comes from an excellent family, while you are handsome, intelligent, endowed with familial wealth and exceptional professional prospects. In what possible ways are either of you ill-suited to the other?!”

 

Drummond took a deep breath. He was going to need to come a bit closer to the truth if he hoped for them to understand at all, so he told them just what he had told Florence—about nearly being shot, about examining his life, about realizing he didn’t love her, about deciding that they both deserved to have that in their lives and would never be able to have it together. Of course, he said nothing about Alfred—nothing about the fact that he, Edward, now _knew_ what love felt like and how it tasted and that he couldn’t imagine forgoing the opportunity to be with the man he truly adored with all his heart.

 

His parents listened to the story and, while alarmed by his near-miss with death, remained entirely unclear as to how that made marriage to Florence impossible.

 

“These things take time to grow, my dear,” his mother stroked his face and spoke as though she were again instructing her three-year-old Edward in the art of patience. “Indeed, there’s something about taking those sacred vows that begins knitting you together in a greater tenderness and intimacy. I’m certain that given time—and children—all those feelings will grow, just as they did for your father and I. Surely, you must see how important your choice of a wife will be for you, both personally and professionally, and you simply cannot do better than Florence! I know how fond she is of you. I believe we could convince her, and her parents, to reconsider.”

 

“No, Mama!” He had grown weary of being talked to like a child; even Alfred had hit that condescending tone with him on occasion, and now his mother. It rankled and brought him back to himself. “I don’t think you understand how clarifying that moment was for me. It made me certain beyond doubt that I do not love Florence, I will not ever love her as a husband ought, and I cannot marry her. Not only for my sake, but for hers as well.”

 

“I don’t care for the tone you’re taking with your mother,” the elder Mr. Drummond rejoined. “So you had an alarming moment, a close call. It didn’t end in tragedy, thank God, and now you get on with it. Love doesn’t just fall in one’s lap, you know. You must cultivate it. Choose the right wife, and the rest will follow.” Mrs. Drummond gave her husband a warm look, and he smiled back at her lovingly.

 

How would he ever make them understand? In many ways, their story sounded so similar to his that they simply couldn’t imagine how it could turn out any other way. And he absolutely could _not_ tell them the way in which he was most different from them. It hurt his heart to know that he could never share with his dear parents the joy he now knew with Alfred—that they would never be able to know who Edward _truly_ loved.

 

“I don’t believe when you married, either of you had already lost your heart to another, had you?”

 

That got their attention, and the questions began flying.

 

“There’s someone else? Who? When did this happen?” his father blurted out.

 

“Edward, why didn’t you tell us?” his mother cried.

 

“I couldn’t tell you then, and I cannot tell you any more now. It is a love I may not act on. But it has shown me how much I might feel—how much I might love—the right person. I know now I could never love Florence that way, and seeing my life flash by in that moment, it was clear to me that I must not settle for less and I must not allow her to do so, either. My heart can only be given where it is already claimed.”

 

They both sat, looking at him in amazement for some moments. “So if your heart is already claimed,” his father tried to work it out, “but you may not act on this love, are you proposing that you should never marry? That’s absurd."

 

Edward realized he needed to be careful or he might sow the seeds for dangerous suspicions. “I am not saying that I never _should_ marry—only that I _will not_ unless I feel a true love and devotion. Though I cannot be with the one who claims my heart now—unless circumstances were to change radically—now that I know this feeling, now that I recognize it, I cannot bring myself to marry anyone who does not stir it in me. It may yet happen—but I cannot say with certainty.”

 

His mother’s face was the picture of concern. “Who is it that you love? And why is she beyond reach?”

 

There was a little part of him that had hoped his parents would guess his dilemma. He wanted their love for him to reach deep into his heart, to read the unspoken thoughts in his mind, to see his struggles and his elation—and to react with affection that would overshadow any sense of shock or judgment. Though he knew it was a ludicrous notion, he was still a bit disappointed at the use of the feminine pronoun; but of course they would not guess. They could not think of anyone but a potential wife… and whatever happened in the future, that was the one thing Edward felt certain he would not have.

 

“I cannot tell you any more, Mama. Just know that what I did was best for not only myself, but for Florence, too. In the end, I believe she understood that and that it helped her agree to a united public front in breaking our engagement.”

 

“We’re damned lucky she didn’t sue,” said his father, still sounding disturbed.

 

“I know, Papa, and I am sorry for having had to risk it. But I think Florence knows me well enough to understand I was trying to rectify an error for both our sakes. She gave me the benefit of the doubt. She was really remarkably understanding through all of it, for which I’ll be ever grateful.”

 

“And we’re grateful that the Marquess and Marchioness haven’t cut us dead. They might have done—brought a suit, too—and would have been perfectly justified,” the elder Drummond continued. “They were generous enough to receive us when we arrived this afternoon. From what they said, I believe we have Florence to thank for their magnanimity.”

 

Edward looked puzzled.

 

“It is our understanding,” his mother said, “that Florence pleaded with her father to let bygones be bygones. He told us she was concerned for our families’ long years of friendship. Though I believe it was more to do with her continuing affection for you.”

 

Edward felt his heart warm a bit. He had reason to have cared for Florence; she really did have a kind heart. It seemed a shame they could not continue to be friends, but he knew that would no longer be possible.

 

The implications of their statement began to dawn on him. “Wait—you’ve already been to see Florence’s parents? Before you even spoke with me—your son?”

 

“Well, we didn’t know what had happened, did we?” his father replied. “We thought it best that we make peace with them on our own behalf before possibly being put in the position of explaining you.”

 

It made sense. They couldn’t possibly have explained his feelings anyway. But he needed them to set his mind at ease on one point: “You didn’t speak with them about reviving the engagement, did you?”

 

“Of course not,” his mother assured him. “We simply tried to get a sense as to whether they might be receptive. It wouldn’t be easy, but there’s still good will there; I believe we could achieve a reconciliation if you would make an effort.”

 

Edward sighed. “No, Mama. It cannot be. I’ve done what I feel is right, and I’ve explained it to you as best I can. Apparently, Florence understands. I hope both of you can, too?”

 

His parents shared a look, before his father walked off to stare out the window. His retort was delivered to the scene outside, as he seemed unable to look at his son for the moment. “You’re asking quite a lot for us to understand something you will not fully explain.”

 

His mother looked at him sympathetically and squeezed his hands. “Even if we cannot understand, and I fear your father is right about that, it would seem we must accept your decision. You are still our son and we do love you, but you realize—don’t you?—that you’ve put our entire family in an awkward position. It will be quite difficult to move forward from this.”

 

“Give it time, Mama; it will all die down and be forgotten. I’m quite certain.” Edward felt there was no more to be said, so he rose, kissed her on the cheek, and turned to his father. “I am sorry for everything that has happened. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

 

His father turned to him. “It’s not a matter of forgiveness, but of disappointment.” He turned back to the window, and dismissed him with a simple “Son.”

 

Edward bowed stiffly and, feeling too distant to call him _Papa,_ took his leave as though departing the presence of the queen herself. “Father. Mama.” And he turned and walked out the door.

 

Once out of the hotel and into the evening air, Edward found it a balm to his aching head. A light breeze seemed to clear away the cobwebs as he walked. Oh, that interview had been awful—much worse even than his last meeting with Florence!—but it was over now.

 

As he closed his eyes and savored the feel of the wind on his face, he was seized with a single overwhelming thought: _I must see Alfred._


End file.
